


flowers that open only once

by callistylo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Asexual Jughead Jones, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, well he's not explicitly asexual but he's ace if i say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callistylo/pseuds/callistylo
Summary: jughead has been coughing up flowers since the first time he thought about himself and archie together. it's taken him years to come to grips with his feelings and after archie performs at homecoming, he's going to give him a letter that tells him everything.everything falls apart.after his father is arrested, jughead disappears and leaves behind a trail of flowers.(based on the fictional hanahaki disease, where someone suffering from unrequited love throws up flower petals until their love is returned or they're removed (along with their feelings) through surgery.)





	flowers that open only once

**Author's Note:**

> flower meanings are based on hanakotoba (the japanese language of flowers).  
> their meanings (which i found on the internet, so i can't guarantee correctness) are in the endnotes to avoid spoilers. 
> 
> come talk to me about jarchie at vulspine.tumblr.com
> 
> title is from "saying your names" by my favorite poet, richard siken.

****

Jughead’s letter to Archie sat unopened and shut in his laptop, as it had for two weeks. Whether it was fear or denial that kept him from delivering it didn’t matter, but it was the night of the homecoming dance, very likely the last chance before Archie and Veronica sealed their fate and exiled him to the sidelines to peer in on their relationship. He’d grabbed the letter and shoved it in his jacket pocket on the way to the dance in case he got an opportunity. 

As everyone milled around in the absence of music, Betty kept him company and tried to distract him from his nausea and the crawling feelings in his throat even though she didn't really know what was making him so anxious. She took off soon enough to talk to her mom and Jughead was prophetically left on the outside to watch everyone else’s conversations and drive himself insane worrying about telling Archie how he felt. 

The first failure of the night: Archie and Veronica arrived an hour late and immediately left the dance floor to get ready to perform. Jughead followed them out of the gym doors but didn’t have the chance to get his words out before they disappeared backstage together, deep in conversation. He slumped back against the wall, crumpling the letter in his fist and felt his heartbeat weaken. 

All of a sudden his stomach turned over and he was forced to stumble into the bathroom, holding onto the counter for dear life as he retched up tulip petals across the white marble. In a stroke of unusual luck, not a single student out of the hundreds at the dance came into the bathroom, and he was safe from explaining what was wrong with him. The petals slowed and he shuddered, pushing himself off the counter with the intention of leaving. He nearly managed to miss his reflection in the mirror but it caught him before he could look away. His reflection looked nightmarish. His dark circles and teary eyes stuck out the most, seconded by red smears around his mouth where the petals had stained him. He wiped off the stains with paper towels and left the tulips in the sink to rot.

The stage was still occupied by the Pussycats, meaning he hadn’t stayed too long in the bathroom. Finding a dark corner to hide and listen was easy, and the few other outcasts skulked along the walls without asking questions.

When Archie and Veronica took the stage, his heart clenched with pride and crushed disappointment at how incredible the duo were together. Archie’s voice had always been beautiful, but on a mic with his guitar and backups it was life-changing and it completely shattered Jughead with how much he needed him. Archie and Veronica’s voices completed each other like they’d always been meant to perform together. Like they always would be together. Like Jughead was nothing anymore, now that a beautiful, mysterious girl had come to town and caught Archie’s attention in a way Jughead’s slew of problems couldn’t even hope for. He waited for Archie to look over at him, like maybe they could sense each other and it would mean hope wasn’t lost, but every time Archie’s eyes roamed over the back of the gym without seeing him it destroyed him.

The second failure of the night was worse than anything he could’ve anticipated. His limbs were icy, numb, heavy, too much. He couldn’t vaporize out of existence. He’d spent years slowly chipping away at the walls he built when his dad had lost his job, then when his family separated, but he’d hoped he’d never need them again. Now he had never needed walls so badly. His father was a  _ murderer _ . His friends had gone behind his back. Everything everyone had told him that night, all the trust he had in them, they'd calculated to get in and pry him apart, to find the soft parts of his heart they could tear into. Betty and her mother, behind a facade of trust and acceptance into their family, let Archie break into the trailer with Veronica, and told them to look through everything. For evidence. Archie had remembered where the Jones family kept their key since they’d lived down the street with a backyard treehouse, but those ten years of love meant  _ nothing _ so quickly. Jughead felt his insides curl and tighten into a ball, growing thorns, and as he turned on his heel and sprinted out of the school, he coughed up soft orange lily petals that fell in a trail down the sidewalk. None of them risked following him home.

The trailer door was broken open, taped off, and everything was moving too slowly. Dust particles floated around the couch pillows thrown into every corner of the room, his mother's leftover books were bent and torn in their resting places on the floor, his coats and his father’s Serpents jacket crumpled in a pile with the papers on the counter. There was nothing he could do but collapse and sob, shaking with the force of everything crashing down around him, and litter the ground with more yellow lilies mixed with spidery red blooms until they began to cover the damage and hide the evidence with their wet blossoms. When his tears were exhausted, the flowers had grown into vines that reached towards his feet and looped around his shoes. He shook them off and left as quickly as he’d barged in, carrying nothing but his backpack.

As he walked to the bus station, head down, he methodically ripped off the spider lilies that grew from his mouth down his neck, tearing their thin vines like spiderwebs, but they refused to stop growing back. He stopped in a phone booth and called his mom to come home. When she picked up the phone, he choked up with relief, and had to clear his throat to get rid of a few pink rose petals that threatened to grow as he told her he would see her soon. 

The third failure. The roses wilted as fast as they had been planted. The last of his family had dropped him, told him he wasn’t ready to come for a visit, abandoned him to be homeless again. A fog of peaceful absolute solitude descended over the phone booth and he floated in the realization that he was completely alone. No one wanted him and no one cared and he was left by himself in a tiny glass cubicle with sweet peas sprouting from his lips. He was out of tears.

The faintest memory of his father’s first trailer, still owned by the Serpents, was enough to send him off on a bus upstate without a second thought. The bus came soon enough -- as far as he could tell, because his phone was off for good and there was no clock -- and boarding it felt like something that had been coming for a long time. He’d never been a part of Riverdale, not really. Ever since his family had moved, they’d been on the fringe, no matter what Archie or Betty could tell him. They didn’t feel it like him, the thin transparent barrier between him and the  _ real _ Riverdale. He could feel the barrier pressing against him when he got a little too close to Archie or hoped a little too much. Writing that letter had gotten him as close to it as ever and it suffocated him with the knowledge that something was irreversibly wrong. He could stretch a hand out to Archie as far as he wanted, but he’d never break through. He’d just as soon die choking on flowers if no one could to break through and pull him into the real world. 

The bus takes off, wheels crushing the last of the sweet pea petals.

He finds the abandoned trailer as cold and dark as the one he left behind, but no ghosts are collecting in the corners here. Maybe staying there in the dark will slow down the flowers, but they wouldn’t even hurt if the meanings didn’t haunt him. _Desperation. Abandonment. Farewell_. They don't stop; even as he lays on the floor of an empty bedroom, wrung out of all energy, weak coughs hack up more petals that plant themselves into his clothing and the ground to anchor him there. He falls asleep with his head on his folded blazer and his hat on for warmth.

Sleep doesn’t come and the flowers don’t stop. They wrap around his neck and begin to twine up his arms from his wrists until he’s as much a part of them as they are of him. They’re soft pink heather, calling to memory a picture of them in a book from the library, classifying them as a member of the Erica variety, but more importantly, they signify solitude. He smiles bitterly.

During the night, he stirs and mutters “ _ Archie, _ ” bringing a clot of yellow camellias out with his name.

Back at home, the homecoming attendees have congregated behind the school or in each other’s houses to swim in thick clouds of smoke. The stragglers occupy booths at Pop’s. Archie, Veronica, and Betty, having been told that Pop Tate hadn’t seen Jughead there all night, choose their last resort. 

They seek out Joaquin and find him and Kevin in a top-floor room at the Whyte Wyrm. The Serpents are already mourning FP’s imprisonment and out of sympathy for his son, agree to provide a few places in Serpent territory where Jughead might've escaped. The buildings are mostly long gone: the barn outside of town was burned down years ago, the drive-in was demolished along with any Southside traces, and the others are outside of any of their realms of knowledge. One place sticks out in particular: a trailer reserved for any members without transportation stuck outside of town. Archie and Betty share a long look and put the address in their phones. When Archie thanks everyone in the bar and turns to leave, a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

“We’re coming with you.” Joaquin, still holding Kevin's hand, offers backup.

“My dad was part of this whole thing. I want him to know I’m still on his side.” Kevin’s mouth settles into a hard line.

Half an hour later, armed with exhausted determination, they all buy tickets for a bus bound upstate. Betty falls asleep on Veronica’s shoulder in the waiting area, and when Veronica sees Archie smile weakly at the two of them, she leans into Betty and closes her eyes too. Archie stares at the floor and wills his eyes to stop stinging. The three-hour wait feels like a week. 

Finally they’re approved to board the bus into what might as well be the great unknown. After a long ride (during which all five fall asleep), they arrive in a mirror image of the familiar Southside where rusty signs for a trailer park pinpoint it further down the road. Archie braves the wind at the head of the group, faking confidence by the light of his phone’s shaking flashlight on the asphalt as they grow closer. Each identical white trailer looks like a coffin in the lack of light. It’s too fitting. None of them know what state Jughead will be in when they reach him, but it’s eight hours after the most devastating news of his life. They all individually prepare for the worst. 

As Jughead sleeps, curled up against the wall, the flowers twist around his arms and legs and wind up the length of his spine. The sky begins to lighten and the blossoms open, straining on their stems toward the sun. 

It isn’t too hard to find the right trailer once the sun starts to come up, although the air seems to be growing colder. Of course the trailer is unlatched when they finally find it. What comes as a surprise, though, is the vines of erica spotted with white chrysanthemum petals snaking up the walls. 

“Where did these come from?” Veronica whispers.

Archie shakes his head slowly. “No clue.” He stays in place and follows the strands of flowers with his eyes across the floor and up the walls. It’s probably just his imagination, but it feels like they radiate warmth when he gets close enough. He reaches out shakily to touch one and the stems reach out, wrap around his fingers, softer than skin.

Betty and Veronica, followed by Kevin and Joaquin, walk along the path of vines to where they twist around a corner out of sight. All four of them stop when they see a figure sleeping against the wall, unrecognizable under a patchwork of flowers except for a familiar hat.

“Jug,” Betty whispers, stepping carefully closer. 

He jolts up and sends flowers flying. Betty backs away with her hands outstretched, making him grimace at being treated like a wounded animal, but it doesn’t distract her from the irises that replace the wilting blossoms all around him. Veronica gasps softly when she notices them sprouting around her feet. Jughead doesn’t understand what’s going on, barely remembers what happened last night, but he’s not alone anymore. The familiar tickle in his throat returns and he turns away from them to cough into his elbow. His sleeve is littered with white poppy petals. Betty looks so worried, it makes him want to apologize out of habit, but the words don’t come. His eyes flick from her to Veronica to Kevin to Joaquin. 

Last night starts to come back to him. He looks down and curls in on himself and Betty falls to her knees next to him.

“Jug, we’re so sorry.” 

Veronica chimes in. “What we did was  _ wrong _ , I was selfish, I should’ve trusted you, but I was so scared my dad had something to do with it.”

“We're going to do everything we can to help your dad.” Kevin looks a little uncomfortable but Joaquin backs him up, nodding silently.

Jughead tries to say something but it threatens to come out as a sob. Looking down to avoid their eyes, he inhales and exhales loudly. 

“Okay.”

He sits up more and brushes a pile of petals off his knees. 

“I can’t tell you I’m not hurt. Or that what you guys did was okay. But this is the worst my life has ever been and that’s saying something. And I don’t want to stay here alone.” He pauses. “By the way, did Archie come with--”

Archie appears in the doorway, somehow out of breath. They lock eyes and a fanfare of poppies and red roses bursts out of the dying flowers on the floor. Betty grabs Veronica’s hand, tugging her backwards, as Joaquin and Kevin step back against the opposite wall. Jughead watches them out of the corner of his eye, sees Veronica tighten her grip on Betty’s hand and Betty smiles to herself. Archie steps closer.

“You came.” It’s barely louder than a whisper.

“I couldn’t leave you like that. Ever. I messed up really bad, Jug, but I can't just give up and leave you alone.”

Jughead turns and spits out a mouthful of red rose petals. Archie's gaze, the fear and grief in his eyes, brings Jughead back to the present and reminds him of the letter still shut in his laptop on the floor.

“Arch, I need to tell you something.” 

“I think I already know.” He looks down at the rose stems littering the floor. 

Jughead stands up, bracing his hands on his knees, ignoring the petals that float back down to the ground. Maybe Archie can forgive him if nothing else. And if not, Jughead won’t be any worse off than he was before Archie got there. He’d be just as alone.

“I’ve waited too long, I just need to--” 

“If it’s about your letter, Jug, I--”

Jughead doesn’t listen. He stands as close to Archie as his heart will let him without self-destructing.

“I wrote something for you but it doesn’t matter anymore, I can tell you now. I’ve known for a long time--”

“ _ Jug _ .  _ Jughead.  _ Look at me.”

“ _ What?”  _ He snaps. 

“I don’t need to read your letter -- I already know. I was waiting for you to say something. I was too scared to do anything about it, but I -- I was looking for you at homecoming while I was singing, I wanted you to know…”

“What? You’re not making any sense. Skip the preamble.”  _ Reject me already _ , he almost says.

“I had a whole speech for you, to tell you--”

“A speech to tell me  _ what _ ?”

Archie sighs and closes the distance between them by cupping Jughead’s jaw, brushing away a fragment of a petal.

“I don’t know what this flower thing is about, and honestly it's kind of freaking me out, but I still want to -- can I kiss you?” 

Jughead wants desperately to look away but Archie’s eyes hold him there without letting him breathe, without giving him the chance to come up with a reason for Archie to be lying about his feelings. Something inside him knows Archie's not lying, they’re too close and Archie's holding his waist and his fingers are on his jaw and all Jughead can do is whisper in response:

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Archie pulls him in without waiting a second and his lips are so warm and Jughead feels tears stinging behind his eyelids, hopes Archie doesn’t notice the roses twining from his hands across Archie's shoulders and down his back. Jughead pulls back to gasp in a breath he’d held for too long. 

“Here.” He opens his palm to show Archie a fully formed red rose, stem green and new and free of thorns.

“You made all of this? How did you--”

“I don’t know how. But I know they’re for you. They’re...all for you.”

The itching in his throat is gone. The threat of choking has vanished, and flowers continue to grow where they’ve sprouted along the seams connecting Archie's body to his. Betty watches them, her arm draped across Veronica’s shoulders, rosebuds in both of their hair. Joaquin grins and points at Kevin’s chest, then his, where matching roses grow from their lapels. The thorns on theirs are soft and pliable, brushing against each other as Kevin presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Look,” Jughead chokes out. “It's almost the color of your hair.”

Archie pulls him in tighter, feeling arms wrap around his back and grab fistfuls of his shirt. He holds on tight as Jughead shivers and tries to breathe without shaking.

“You wanna go back home?” Archie leans in closer to his ear.

“No, I think I’ll stay here all alone and cold in a town I’ve never seen before.  _ Yes _ , I wanna go,” Jughead laughs weakly.

Back home, Jughead pulls a pen and his letter to Archie out of his bag. Before leaving to fix the mess the police made of his dad’s home, he sets the letter on Archie’s pillow and writes “come find me at the trailer” with a drawing of a tiny rose.

**Author's Note:**

> flower meanings:  
> tulip - unrequited love  
> primrose - desperation  
> lily - hatred/revenge  
> red spider lily - abandonment  
> pink rose - trust, happiness  
> sweet pea - goodbye  
> erica (heather) - solitude  
> yellow camellia - longing  
> white chrysanthemum - typical funeral flower  
> white poppy - rejoicing  
> red rose - romantic love


End file.
